


Discovering Oases

by altilis



Series: Kinky Vulcan Liaisons [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Biting, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Painplay, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:24:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altilis/pseuds/altilis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After two years of Starfleet, Spock still needs his bondmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discovering Oases

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sullacat/profile)[**sullacat**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sullacat) for the read-through. ♥

He came back to Vulcan the next summer feeling that everything else remained the same but him.  Having cleared so many prerequisites from his Vulcan education, his second year classes were more third year, where Starfleet thrusted you forward into the realities of deep space exploration, but only enough to whet your appetite or ignite your cowardice.

Spock wouldn't admit that he still had conflicts about his decision, that he hadn't laid awake at night and wondered why he was taking the harder route when he had a smooth route of political ascension laid out for him. (As smooth as it would ever be, anyway.)

This time, he waited three days, and he called first.

"Now?" T’Pring asked over the comm, and Spock couldn't quite tell if she was surprised or smug from expectation. He watched as she looked over her shoulder and called out to her father, off-screen, before giving her attention back to him. "The hotel, after sunset," she suggested, and Spock nodded. The communication ended.

They have only ever had one hotel that they frequent: the Yelas, named for the rare golden flower that only bloomed in the mountain oases of the mountains north of Shi'Kahr. It is the best temporary living establishment in all of the city, with the grandest architecture and the most private rooms and staff. Spock had tried to access the camera system once; it took him three days.

The price for the room still didn't put a dent into his monthly allowance, but then again, very little did.

He arrived first to reserve the room and allowed the hostess to reveal his name to the one person that would ask, and then he rose to the three hundred and fortieth floor, far enough from the penthouses and their potential debauchery but high enough to tower over the city, old and new. Standing by the window, nothing more than a seamless glass wall, Spock saw six thousand years of history lying before him.

The Artist's Quarter to his left glittered with glass and colored metal, a haphazard gathering of low buildings that no one could find the mettle to rearrange. To his right the business district narrowed towards the bottom of the cliff and neighbored his educational home and the Science Academy. Finally, nestled between the two, a wide highway stretched straight and infinite towards the pass between the surrounding jagged mountains, squashed between embassies, townhouses, train stops, shopping districts, and one too-ancient temple that held a stone, curved scimitar above the rest of its pagan shrine.

His side ached, right behind the ribcage, but only until he heard the door hiss behind him. Spock turned to see T'Pring step into the room with a tote held over her shoulder, and instead of her usual dress she wore an embroidered white shirt that buttoned down to her hips, and dark red, almost black, loose pants. It resembled a ceremonial attire he had seen her in once, and might have been the same ensemble, though now old, worn, and unimportant.

"Have you waited long?" she asked, setting the tote on the bed. Spock shook his head and began to undress. T'Pring stepped past him to access the window controls, and as the glass polarized the lights in the room glowed brighter.

After his shirt slid off his shoulders, Spock began to unbutton his trousers, but T'Pring wrapped her arms around him from behind. Her nails dug into his wrists, making him still. "How much time do you have to spare?"

"I have no obligations for at least a week."

"You'll only need tonight."

"How can you be so certain?"

"How are you so unsure?" she asked him instead, and her hands drew back to scratch her nails against his sides, a swipe of eight lines of short-stinging pain that made his skin flush. The familiar touch more than the endorphins made Spock relax, after months and months of self-imposed touch starvation. "You still do not understand the bond."

He didn't, but he said nothing aloud; he didn't need to. She probably felt his ignorance just as well as she had felt his hunger pangs from systems away, and it was one more thing he needed to take care of tonight.

She pushed him forward toward the massive bed, and he feigned a stumble to the edge of it. The move caught her attention, tempted her closer, and without looking Spock wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged. They tumbled into the pillowed duvet and over-soft mattress together.

"Spock!" T'Pring elbow caught him in the stomach, hard enough to drive the breath out of him, and in his moment of weakness she pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, hands and knees digging hard into his skin as she adjusted herself. "You're an impulsive child," she admonished him, breathless.

"And you're a patient mistress," Spock replied, his words just as true. T'Pring took one of his hands in both of hers, and Spock couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight, seeing and feeling her soft touch alternate with brief, sharp scratches. "...I wonder when your patience will run dry." His free hand settled at her hip, for his comfort, and maybe hers.

"Is that why you only call once a year?"

Spock didn't answer her, only watched as she brought his hand towards her mouth. He felt the scrape of her teeth against the pads of his fingertips, one after another, and his chest felt tight from the anticipation. Unthinking, he glanced up to catch her gaze, but maintained his silence.

"Do you expect me to give you platitudes, Spock?" Her breath felt hot against his skin, and the softness of it shrunk his awareness from the high ceilings and the wide windows to just this, the two of them on the bed.

"That you'll be unlikely to give and I unlikely to accept? That would be unreasonable," he said, knowing that they were beyond tiptoeing around each other. He would meet with her as long as he needed, and she would give her attention for as long as she wanted. Last time, that had lasted the entire summer, every week until he had to return to San Francisco, and if they were not already betrothed half the city would be suspicious by now.

She bit lightly at the pad of his thumb, the teasing pressure of it enough to make his back arch until T'Pring shifted her weight forward, keeping him down. Her knees pressed hard into his ribs. Then her teeth moved along the side of his finger to his knuckles, and T'Pring bit the thin skin between her canines until it was nearly unbearable. All Spock had to do was draw in a sharp breath and she released him from the sensation, and then rubbed her thumb over the flushed green skin.

"I believe it would be logical for you to contact me while residing there. Secure a private line through the embassy." T'Pring scratched her nails over the back of his hand and then over his palm, hard enough that he felt the sting after her touch moved on. "Then perhaps you would be less anxious every time we meet."

Anxious - it wasn't a word he would use to describe himself, but he supposed she had no other term for it, being blind on the receiving end of his faint emotions. He entertained the idea, and amusement bubbled up before he dampened it. "What could I give you from Earth?"

"Assurance. Entertainment on rare occasion." Her thumb scratched over his palm, digging into the skin. The cry leaves his throat before Spock can stop it, and he tried to jerk his hand back, but her grip on his wrist was relentless. "And I could provide you direction," she continued, calm. "Would that be acceptable?"

"…yes," he huffed out without a thought to the possibilities; they could discuss this later over supper or breakfast. Now, all he needed was her mouth on his hand again - and she obliged without his asking, touching her lips to his knuckles in a mimicry of a kiss he had given her years ago, but without his hesitation or uncertainty.

**Author's Note:**

> Also at [Dreamwidth.](http://altilis.dreamwidth.org/40393.html)


End file.
